


i'm fine with my spite

by loudle



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Reunion Fic, cheating in the past, maybe im manifesting whos to say
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-28 01:55:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30132246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loudle/pseuds/loudle
Summary: Harry turned as if to address the rest of the room once again, but his eyes only landed on Louis, who was suddenly 22, fumbling with his belt buckle in the top bunk of the tour bus, hushed giggles shared between kissed-raw lips, ‘I love you’s thrown around like confetti and they were covered. Except he was 29, evergreen migraine exploding behind his eyes, straining to smell his long-ago lover’s cologne from across the room like a rumor not intended for his ears. Oh, and of course, so very alone.title taken from the song "closure" by taylor swift
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 23
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

London looked different that morning, as if the Earth knew today was the beginning of a brand new chapter, or perhaps a long-awaited ending to an unfinished one. Louis stood on his balcony, looking out at the fog that hugged the high rise buildings of central London. He brought the cigarette up to his lips, inhaling deeply. This would be the last time he was in his flat for a good while. The thing about being in one of the biggest boybands the world had ever seen was that there was no such thing as privacy. If there was something to speculate, the fans were already miles ahead. For this very reason, a flower delivery service van was parked in the garage attached to his building, waiting to transport him to the studio where he would see his three band mates in the same room for the first time in six years. Niall would be arriving in an Amazon delivery van, Liam would simply walk up the front steps, and Harry would be late, having bigger plans. Of course he did. Fucking Harry.

Louis clenched his jaw as he looked over the railing at the ground so far beneath him. The people walking on the street were only specks in his vision. The only evidence they were living creatures was the way they sparkled in the light as they moved, like sunlight bouncing off the tumultuous waves crashing against the walls inside of his head. He wondered how pretty the contents of his skull would paint the pavement if he leapt from his penthouse and cracked it open against the cement, brain leaking like a runny yolk of an egg and turning the sidewalk angry, sad, hurt, betrayed  _ RED _ . He screwed his eyes shut, centering himself with both hands on the railing. He wasn’t ready for this moment, but it was unlikely he ever would be. He took one last drag of his cigarette before putting it out in the ashtray Harry had painted for him at a pottery studio during an off day in Amsterdam. He had long ago seeped into every crack in Louis’s life, an infestation that was once a rose garden but now just felt like parasitic weeds, wrapping around his throat and pulling taut until the last thing he saw was a flash of green before meeting his maker. Everything was green since he had met him. It used to be his favorite color for that very reason. Now, it felt more like a cruel reminder, nothing but a twist of the dagger in his side. Suddenly, he had the most pounding headache. His phone dinged as he had this realization. It was time to go.

He let out a labored sigh, taking one last look at his cherished view of the skyline before stepping back inside and closing the sliding glass door behind him. His luggage had already been shipped over days earlier, the length of their stay being unclear. He grabbed his personal duffel before stepping into the hallway and locking his door behind him for the last time in however long. Despite losing his faith years ago, he almost said a little prayer to himself in preparation for the days ahead.

He stepped onto the service elevator and hit the button for the fifth floor garage where the van would be parked discreetly beside the door. The fluorescent light hummed monotonously, a new sound to slice through his head and add to the cacophonous symphony of his own brain organizing a mutiny against him for agreeing to this knowing  _ he  _ would be there. Maybe part of him, a minuscule part, agreed for that very reason. He quickly pushed the notion out of his mind. He could no longer afford to think like that.

The flower van was right where the document that was signed, sealed, and delivered to his doorstep said it would be, engine humming where it sat ready for him. As soon as he stepped into the garage, the driver hopped out and circled the van, opening the trunk door for Louis to get in. The floor and walls were lined with pillows, and it was all so funny to him suddenly. It reminded him of the bread van in Brazil, where the five of them had been packed in like sardines to get through the hordes of fans undetected. Now, as he climbed into the pillowed interior that smelled faintly of roses, he was painfully alone.

The drive was longer than he had anticipated, being across town and then some. His phone buzzed repeatedly, letting him know that Niall and Liam had both arrived. He would be the third to get there, and the Primadonna was scheduled to arrive early the next morning. How big of him to show up at all.

Upon arriving, the van pulled up to the back of the sprawling house and into the enclosed garage. Once free of the threat of wandering eyes, the driver turned off the engine and came around to open the back door. Louis hopped out, slinging his bag higher on his shoulder as he did, regaining his balance after sitting with his legs tucked under him for the 40 minute drive. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, before stepping into the hallway from the garage. The inside looked like a decently normal house: hardwood floors, light cream walls, inset lights. The only difference was instead of family photos framed on the walls, there were gold and platinum records hanging there. He spotted one with their smiling faces staring back at him. He hardly recognized his own young face, as if he had discovered a portal that peered into another life so far away from here. His phone buzzed and he glanced down at the screen, where his own arrival had been announced like a news bulletin for just four people total. He knew that Harry got that same notification. He hoped it burned the same way it did for him.

“ _ LOUUUUUIIIIIISSSSSSSS! _ ,” he heard Niall’s booming voice come from somewhere deeper within the house and he couldn’t help the smile that formed across his face. If all else failed, Niall would always be happy to see him. As he rounded the corner into the kitchen, his old friend was on him in an instant, nearly tackling him to the floor with a bear hug that squeezed the breath from his lungs. “How are you, man? It’s so good to see you! It’s been way too long,” Niall said, rocking him back and forth before pulling away. Louis blinked a few times, steadying himself again as he responded.

“Yeah, I’m all good. Nothing interesting over here, same old and all that,” Louis responded, spotting Liam smiling at him with a cup of coffee in his hand in a mug that read ‘ _ I HATE MONDAYS! _ ’. 

“Hey, old man,” Liam said, rounding the marble island to pull him into a tight side hug with his free arm. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m an elusive ghost of a man, we get it,” he said playfully, rolling his eyes. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“Couldn’t do this without you,” Liam said, and for a moment, Louis allowed himself to believe it. The kind brown eyes of his old friend resting on him felt like a welcoming home. If only he wasn’t awaiting for the other shoe to drop on a plane from LAX to Heathrow.

“Couldn’t do what without who?,” an all too familiar voice came from behind him. It rattled against the walls, ricocheting against the inside of his skull and bruising his ego with every place it crash landed. Louis was a pilot with a failing engine, free falling 30,000 feet without a parachute. Harry was laughing from the ground.

“ _ HARRY! GOOD MAN! _ ,” Niall cried joyously, greeting him with a familiar bone-crushing hug. Louis denied the snake of jealousy that wound tight around his gut and cursed his body for betraying his better judgment. He could not help the way his stomach lurched in yearning to feel his tender touch again. “How are you? God, we have so much to catch up on, I—“

“You’re early,” Louis spoke suddenly and the room fell silent. When he looked over at Harry, Niall’s arms were still wrapped around his middle and he had an arm draped over his shoulders to reciprocate the affectionate gesture. He only then realized how cold his voice had sounded, an icicle slicing through the air like a knife and landing in Harry’s chest as if it were painted with a target. If it bothered him, he didn’t let it show. He wore a lazy smile if not slightly tight around the edges, though only someone who knew him as well as Louis would be able to pinpoint such a minute detail. He hated himself for memorizing the beautifully cruel face.

“Pleasure to see you too,  _ Lewis _ ,” he replied with false warmth and it made Louis itch all over. This was all wrong, so so wrong. He swallowed, lifting his chin a notch to look down his nose at Harry.

“You were supposed to arrive tomorrow. What, did the Queen let you leave your croquet match early today?,” he asked and Harry sniffed a small laugh. 

“She had dinner plans with Will and Kate. You know how it is,” he replied and Louis forced a fake smile to show how unamused he was by the joke. “No, we were supposed to wrap up filming tomorrow but all of my scenes were done as of this morning, so I caught the first flight out of LA. Figured might as well be punctual if I have the option.”

“How noble of you,” Louis remarked flatly and Harry flashed his million dollar smile. Louis definitely did not have butterflies erupt in his gut when his dimples shone through.

“I try.” A beat of silence passed them by, the room uncomfortably still. Louis did not dare look away and Harry stared back, infuriatingly jovial despite the tense undercurrent. It was Liam who broke the silence.

“It’s good to see you, Harry,” he said, moving to close the distance between them. He stopped when Harry only offered a tight-lipped grin that did not meet his narrowed eyes, making no effort of his own to approach the other man. Niall slowly removed himself from Harry’s side, backing away from the center of the newest point of tension.

“Charmed as always,” he remarked coldly with a curt nod that sent a chill around the room. Liam stiffened slightly, swallowing with a nod of his own in silent agreement to keep his distance for the time being. Harry turned as if to address the rest of the room once again, but his eyes only landed on Louis, who was suddenly 22, fumbling with his belt buckle in the top bunk of the tour bus, hushed giggles shared between kissed-raw lips, ‘ _ I love you _ ’s thrown around like confetti and they were covered. Except he was 29, evergreen migraine exploding behind his eyes, straining to smell his long-ago lover’s cologne from across the room like a rumor not intended for his ears. Oh, and of course, so very alone. “Have I missed anything? Did you reinvent the wheel prior to my arrival?,” he asked as he walked towards the stainless steel refrigerator. He opened the door, pulling out a plastic water bottle, and shutting it once more.

“Not at all, really. You came right behind Louis,” Niall said and Harry wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Been there, done that,” he said with a wink tossed Louis’s way as he unscrewed the cap of the water bottle and took a swig. Louis felt his own face heat up as Niall let out a bark of a laugh which he quickly slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle. Louis made a point to ignore the remark, though the blush on his cheeks told a different tale. Harry sat down on the white leather couch in the living space, the open floor plan of the house offering him such a liberty. Immediately, he looked at home, as though he had sat there long before the house was ever built, and the blueprints were drawn tailored to his presence. Louis had always envied that quality about him, the way time and space bent to his hand without ever having to lift a single finger. There was a time where he had admired him for it, but now, he could only find deep, burning resentment. “I noticed that you were on time, Louis. What’s going to happen? Has Hell frozen over?,” he said in mock wonder and Louis offered a tight, close-lipped smile. 

“Considering I have agreed to be locked in a house with you for an undefined period of time, yeah, I’d say it has,” Louis quipped. Harry smirked in amusement and Louis fought the urge to preen under the light of the unspoken stroke to his ego. He bit his own tongue to keep himself from taking it further. The sparkle in Harry’s eye put there from the sickeningly familiar banter was intoxicating, his drug of choice. One taste and his chest ached, craving his next fix. He pushed this out of his mind as best he could, swallowing hard and praying no one noticed him falter. He knew better, though, and the green eyes had been watching his every move, cataloguing every single hair out of place and twitch of his lips since their keeper had arrived. “Besides the fact that you arrived after me. How have you managed to take a dig at my alleged tardiness when I got here earlier than you? No one likes a hypocrite,  _ Harold _ .”

“Ah, he’s perceptive,” he remarked, nodding slowly. “However, I wasn’t due until tomorrow afternoon. If you think about it, I’m actually earlier than all of you.”

“So, you’re finished with filming?,” Niall asked, flopping into the couch beside Harry who nodded, turning his attention and instantly unguarded gaze to his single ally. “What a trip. Always knew you were a star, but you’re, like, a proper movie star as well now. Fucking sick, really man. So proud of you,” Niall congratulated him and Louis felt sick to his stomach watching the green eyes shine, full of stars put there by someone that wasn’t him. If he couldn’t cause that light anymore, he’d be damned if he couldn’t put it out.

“A proper movie star indeed,” Louis said coolly, hopping up to sit on the marble counter of the island, facing the pair seated on the sofa. “Such a kind gesture for you to fraternize with the less acclaimed than yourself.”

“Louis,” Liam said quietly, giving him a warning look then shaking his head as if to say ` _ This is not the hill to die on’ _ . Harry seemed completely unfazed, only offering him a bored expression. It made Louis’s skin crawl.

“Really, it is. Such a good PR move to write an album with the under-privileged. Will you be writing off your time spent with us on your taxes as a charitable donation?” He could hear himself taking it too far, but he couldn’t stop. It was as though he was possessed by a sick need to make Harry hurt like he did, fill every little crack in his ego with shame that would weigh him down like blocks of cement tied to his feet as he pirouettes off the dock.

“I don’t have to deal with this,” Harry rolled his eyes with his lip curled as if addressing Louis directly disgusted him, like the very action was offensive to his sensibilities. “I don’t know how I got talked into agreeing to be here at all. How naïve of me to think you would be any less of a  _ child _ .” Louis seethed at that and Harry’s lips spread into a knowing smirk. He knew what being called childish did to him.

“Harry, come on. Don’t do this,” Niall put a hand on his arm to keep him from standing to make his exit, but stopped dead in his tracks at the glare he received from Louis.

“I’m sorry, is Vogue calling? Gracing another one of their covers so soon? Or is it Madison Square? I bet they have you on speed dial by now,” Louis batted his eyelashes in an over-exaggerated swoon.

“They should after two incredible nights,” he said with an easy wink. “Would’ve made it seven if the world hadn’t gone to shit.” Louis’s blood boiled at the flippant smile he wore. All he wanted to do was watch it fade, slowly and painfully, just like the aching in his chest when he fell by the wayside those six years ago.

“We’ve all played Madison Square Garden in case you forgot, asshole,” Louis snapped and Harry hummed, smug smile only growing.

“How could I forget?,” he sighed wistfully then shrugged. “Well, I guess  _ you  _ could. The last time you were on that stage was, what? Eight years ago now?” Louis saw red, knuckles white where they gripped the edge of the marble counter underneath him. “But hey! The parking lot outside The Forum is just as good. How was JingleBall, Lou?” Liam and Niall both visibly gawked at that, shocked by this version of their once overly-polite, mild-mannered band mate. In that moment, he was a stranger to them.

“You pompous  _ fuck _ ,” Louis cried, scrambling down and stalking towards him where he sat back, legs spread, always so arrogant in how he commanded a room without even trying. Louis hated him with every last fiber of his being. “You out-of-touch piece of shit. God, we’re just a charity case for you, aren’t we?  _ Aren’t we? _ ,” he jabbed his finger in his face, trembling with unbridled rage. Harry blinked up at him lazily. “Well thank goodness you’re here, Harry! We couldn’t have done it without you! A regular Mother Teresa on our hands! My hero!”

“I’m just happy to help out,” he drawled before taking a long sip from his water bottle.

“You’re being a fucking asshole, just so you know,” Liam chimed in, visibly annoyed. “You have your shit to work out with Louis. I can respect that. But don’t lump us in there just because we’re within arm’s reach.”

“Funny, because I recall you had a couple of cute little jabs to throw my way when you had records to sell. How did that work out for you?,” he asked, blinking innocently. Liam glowered, tips of his ears painted bright red with anger, but remained silent in lieu of a valid response. “I won’t be needing that babysitting gig, by the way. Got some bigger plans.” He looked over at Niall then, raising his bottle with a slightly softened smile. “You’re still the golden child, Niall. Always will be. Cheers.” He took one last sip, emptying the contents into his mouth and swallowing before turning back to Liam with a flat expression. “And for the record, Louis and I have no “ _ shit to work out _ ”,” he hooked his fingers into air quotes. “We just have shit. I’d say we’re a ways past working it out now.” Louis scoffed, rolling his eyes so hard they nearly popped out of his skull.

“I’d call that the understatement of the century, babe,” he snapped and Harry crinkled his nose in amusement. Louis shot down the fluttering in his chest that ached in nostalgia, echoing in the deepest cores of his bones. There was a version of himself long ago that basked in that small sign of amusement, actively sought it out, even. He suddenly felt nauseous looking at where they stood on either side of the line drawn in the sand.

“Not your babe,  _ darling _ ,” he cooed, returning the favor with his own pet name for Louis. His heart definitely did not skip a beat. “But you’re painfully aware of that, aren’t you?” Louis ignored the pang in his chest.

“You really think you’re better than us,” Louis said finally, and Harry took a pause before responding.

“I never said that,” he said hesitantly and Louis snorted. Liam rolled his eyes. Niall looked down at the shoes.

“Right. You rub our noses in your success, but like, in a  _ humble _ way!,” Louis said sarcastically. To his shock, Harry seemed to shrink ever-so-slightly. For a brief moment, he almost looked 16 again— all awkward smiles and too-long limbs he had yet to grow into. That Harry was gentle and kind. That Harry would have sooner set himself ablaze than go out of his way to make others feel small. Funny how things change. “You think we don’t know Simon is hemorrhaging money just to get you to show your face around us? As if you need it with your vintage cars and mansions in the hills.”

“That is absolutely none of your business,” Harry said in a low voice that caused goosebumps to rise on the back of Louis’s neck.  _ Finally _ , he was hitting a nerve. “If you put the work in, you could be where I am—“

“Oh, fuck off, would you? Really, Harry. Don’t be a dick  _ and _ a backpedaling little bitch,” he snapped. Harry stiffened slightly. “You know that’s not true. It’s never been true. Do you want to know how I know?” Harry didn’t say anything, just stared evenly at him, waiting for him to continue. “Because I  _ did _ work as hard as you. I  _ do _ . In fact, some might make the argument that there have been times I’ve had to work twice as hard as you just to get a fraction of the recognition. Because you’re Harry-fucking-Styles. All you have to do is say the word and whatever you’re after is yours. You’ve got the world in the palm of your hand, you always have from the get go. So for you to sit there on your high horse and tell  _ me _ about hard work when it was  _ me _ who wrote our number ones,  _ me _ who carried your bumbling mouth through interviews,  _ me _ who bore the weight of—…” he cut himself off before he could say something he couldn’t take back. Harry’s eyes were ice cold.

“Bore the weight of what, Louis?,” he asked calmly. Louis pressed his mouth into a hard line, gritting his teeth to keep from breathing fire. “Go ahead. Say what it is you want to say. We all know you’ve been holding it in. Might as well air it out while you’re apparently going through our laundry list of grievances.”

“Louis, don’t,” Liam warned. Louis never tore his eyes away from Harry. “It’s not worth it.”

“I loved you,” he said quietly, trembling with anger. “Fuck if I can remember why.”

“Oh, and I was the soul-sucking supervillain that never cared for you at all, right? Smiled in your face while I sunk my knife into your back?,” he said, face twisting with rage. “You’re right Louis. I’ve never worked for a single thing in my entire life. I got where I am because I asked for it and no one has ever told me no. Is that what you want to hear? That I’m a good-for-nothing piece of shit that doesn’t deserve his lot in life? You think  _ that _ fucking low of me?” Louis did not like feeling like the bad guy. Not when he had spent years mapping out this conversation in his head. This was not how it was supposed to go.

“ _ I don’t fucking know you anymore! _ ,” it came out as more of a screech rather than the roar he had been going for. He couldn’t find it in himself to care, at the moment. “I was there for you. I was  _ always _ there for you. I spent my youth devoting all my time, all my love, all my energy into you and you left me high and dry as soon as your contract was up like I was nothing but a fucking stipulation.” The room was completely silent, the only sound being Louis’s ragged breathing. Niall’s eyes were comically wide where they were trained on the floor, and Liam was frozen where he sat, watching the pair like a car crash in motion. Harry stared blankly at him for a long time, letting the words wash over him before .... he laughed. It was a sharp, cold sound.

“So that’s how you remember it?”

“Are you—... Are you fucking  _ laughing _ right now?” Louis thought steam would soon begin to rise from his ears.

“Maybe this is a conversation you guys should have in private,” Liam suggested gently, only to be ignored.

“You gave me everything and I just threw it away, yeah?,” Harry said, manic smile on his face. “Don’t you get tired of playing the victim all the time? You’re about to be 30 years old and you still can’t admit when you’re wrong, even years after the fact. It’s pathetic.”

“I am  _ not _ fucking pathetic. I am  _ not _ playing the victim. You left—“

“No, Louis,  _ you  _ left in the middle of the night after a fight  _ you  _ started.  _ You  _ didn’t come back for three days. It was  _ me  _ who waited patiently by the door, by the phone, by the fucking  _ window _ in case you would try to sneak back in to get some fresh clothes.” His face was even and calm but his eyes were aflame with a newly opened wound that had never quite healed properly. He rose slowly as he spoke, taking each deliberate step to invade Louis’s space, so close he could smell the mint gum on his breath. It made Louis’s mouth water. “And you did come home.  _ Finally _ , you did. You pretended it was all okay, like nothing ever happened. And I tried, didn’t I? I asked where you had gone, what you had done, and you just brushed me off, remember? You said none of it mattered because you were home with me now.” If he did not know Harry as well as he did, there was no way he could have noticed the unshed tears that gathered in the corners of his eyes. Louis silently begged him not to pinch the nerve they had an unspoken agreement not to address. He went ahead anyway. “Until you found out she was pregnant, right? Then maybe it started to matter a little bit.” The pit in Louis’s stomach was bottomless, and his heart just kept sinking further and further down. He suddenly regretted not taking Liam’s advice as every set of eyes in the room skimmed over him, tearing him apart. “And the thing is, I didn’t even leave then. I should have. But I loved you more than I have ever loved another person. I thought I wouldn’t be able to  _ breathe _ without you,” his teeth looked like knives as he smiled, all bloodlust and a scorned lover’s vengeance. He came so close, breath ghosting over Louis’s lips in a phantom kiss. He could not help the shuddered breath he sucked into his lungs. “Turns out I can do a lot more than breathe.” Louis swallowed hard, steeling his face as he did his best to mask the overwhelming shame he was feeling in this moment. “I didn’t do everything right. Maybe I’m an arrogant son of a bitch. But it’s not because of any professional accomplishments I have achieved on my own. It’s because I  _ earned _ the right to be when I was not the one sticking my dick in any stranger who would take it then come home and play the part of devoted boyfriend.” Louis flinched as the words branded the inside of his skull. “But go on and crucify me for a fucking audience for leaving you “ _ high and dry _ ” as you call it. Gave me everything, yeah? Gave me a fucking headache, that’s for sure.” He finally brushed past Louis, shoulder-checking him on the way, and made his journey to the door, pausing in the threshold without turning around to face the room again. “We can pick up anywhere but where we’ve left off tomorrow morning. I’ll be in my room if you need to find me, but please don’t.” In the blink of an eye, he was out of sight. The only evidence he was ever there was the water bottle he left on the floor beside the couch where he had sat. 

“Louis, you never said—...,” Liam trailed off. With a satisfying crunch beneath his heel, the water bottle was nothing but crushed plastic to him now. One less piece of Harry to be suffocated by.


	2. Chapter 2

When Louis opened his eyes the next morning, it was an unwelcome sensation. In an unfamiliar bed inside a house where he felt unwanted, the migraine that sunk her sharp teeth into his brain was an expected guest, even if she always outstayed her welcome. He laid there for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling, letting the prior day’s events trickle back to him. He had gone from underdog to villain in the eyes of his bandmates, yet somehow they still looked at him like a helpless child to be pitied. He grit his teeth at the memory where it taunted him at the forefront of his brain. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, letting out a deep sigh. It was his own fault. He had poked and prodded and took it too far, pushing Harry further and further and knew while he was doing it that he was wandering into dangerous waters. Then he had the gall to act shocked when the loose string holding him together was pulled to unravel his intricate web of half-truths and dodged question marks. Harry’s voice rang clear and piercing in his head:  _ Pathetic _ .

He forced himself up and out of bed when he was sure he would not be falling back to sleep any time soon. He cringed as he stood, headache pounding vicious and unforgiving against his brain like a mallet, taking him to the edge and leaving him there to decide whether to jump or remain in his current state of agony. For a reason unbeknownst to him, he always chose the latter. He padded into the bathroom across the hall, brushing his teeth then scrubbing his face with cold water. As he steadied himself on the edge of the sink, listening to the water run down the drain, he could hardly recognize his reflection. He hated the person that stared back at him. If he could sink his fist into the sallow face and meet flesh and bone rather than shards of glass that shattered around him and split open his knuckles, he would. Instead, he stood up straight, turned on his heel, and marched down the stairs. 

He suspected he would be the first one up, his phone telling him it was hardly past 6:30 in the morning. He stepped into the kitchen with the intention of sitting with his self-pity and a cup of tea until someone stirred from upstairs and joined him to take his mind off the grudge he held against himself that ate away at his spirit. He was surprised to see Harry sitting on a stool at the island, reading a newspaper with a furrowed brow. He had a cup of tea with steam curling from its lip in the hand that was free of the paper, glasses perched on the tip of his nose. It was an idyllic scene, one that made Louis nauseous as it resembled so closely a life he once had, but had long since lost. The green eyes glanced over the rim of the tortoise shell glasses to regard him, then looked back down at the paper. With a slight nod towards the stove, he said, “There’s water in the kettle if you’re looking for tea.” Louis blinked at the strangely warm sentiment, but decided not to overthink it, slowly walking towards the cupboards to find a mug. “Teabags are in the pantry,” Harry said without looking over his shoulder. “Mugs are in the leftmost cabinet.” Louis stopped, watching the back of his head silently for a few moments in equal parts wonder and suspicion. He opened the cabinet Harry had alluded to, and sure enough, there was an entire shelf dedicated to mugs. He took one down that had a painting of a duck holding up its wing with what looked like a middle finger on display, captioned “ _ DUCK YOU! _ ” in bold red letters. He sauntered across the kitchen to the pantry, fetching a Yorkshire Tea bag from the huge box just recently opened, Harry having got to it first. His chest ached. It was him that had introduced Harry to Yorkshire Tea in the first place. He swore at the age of 17 that he would never drink another brand of tea as long as he lived. Louis saw a photo of him on the cover of a tabloid when he was 25 leaving the grocery store with a box of PG Tips. He wondered if he had grown in taste or simply hated anything that tasted like Louis. 

He sat across the island from Harry after retrieving the milk from the refrigerator, waiting for his tea to steep before adding it. “Where the hell did you get a newspaper?,” he asked as Harry turned the page.

“It was on the doorstep when I got up,” Harry replied, taking a sip from his hot pink mug that read “ _ Crazy Cat Lady _ ” in holographic silver glitter writing around a picture of a white fluffy cat with cartoonishly big blue eyes. 

“They still deliver newspapers?,” Louis asked and Harry looked up at him, waving the newspaper as evidence. “What is this, Stepford Wives?” That earned an amused nose crinkle from Harry, who laid the paper on the counter and leaned on his elbow to read it from above. Louis watched him for a few moments, taking in the cozy scene. If they stayed like this long enough, he may be able to convince himself that this was still a snapshot of his life. Their kitchen wasn’t as open nor as austere as this one, but they agreed that they liked it that way. They had copper pots and pans hanging from painted racks and chalkboard cabinets where they wrote love letters to each other when one of them was awake and out of the house before the other had stirred from his sleep. He had looked up the home they had once called their own on Zillow more times than he could count. Whenever he recalled the new owners had painted the cabinets bare, cold white, it knocked the wind out of him no matter how much time had passed. He swallowed the lump that rose in his throat as he removed the teabag from the mug and poured a splash of milk in. “Harry, I--”

“We don’t need to do this,” Harry interrupted him, putting a hand up to silence him. The ever-sure, often confident-to-a-fault face looked so much older than Louis had ever seen it. In this light, his worry lines were carved deep into his skin, the green eyes drooped as if he had not slept a wink, and he was _so_ _tired_. Blurry around the edges and exhausted by a conversation that hung, unsaid, in the air between them. “Please. Let’s just… Not.” They were both quiet for a long time until Louis spoke again.

“I just need you to know that it wasn’t you,” he said in a voice so small, one might fear it would be swallowed by even the sound of silence. Harry clenched his jaw, staring down at the paper with a brooding intensity. “I didn’t--… It was never about you. I don’t know how to make you get that, or if I even have to explain it. I just--... I hate that we got reduced to that, you know? That all of our good moments got shattered by the bad. Because we had  _ so many _ good ones,” he said softly. Harry did not look up. Louis didn’t know if it was better or worse that way. “At least,  _ I _ think so.”

“Why are you saying all of this?,” Harry asked quietly, still staring down at the counter. “Why now, after all the trouble you’ve gone through to make me the bad guy in your storyline?”

“I don’t know,” Louis responded honestly, shrugging with a tired sigh. Harry looked up at him then, eerily calm in the eye of the storm.

“Well, don’t,” he said in a low voice. “You don’t get to write eulogies for our relationship when you’re the one that pulled the trigger. Not when you tried to frame me when all I did was find the basic respect for myself to walk away from someone who didn’t give a fuck about me.”

“You know that’s not true,” Louis felt anger begin to flare as a low flame in his chest. “Of  _ course _ I gave a fuck about you. I loved you with everything I had. Everything I--”

“Well, not  _ everything _ ,” Harry said with a soft sigh, picking the newspaper back up to continue reading. “But you know that.” Louis felt himself trembling with rage that he knew was unjustified even as it licked at the confines of his chest. He deserved this treatment, had earned it even. But it didn’t hurt his pride any less.

“Why are you being like this?,” was all he could manage and Harry looked up at him wearing a bored expression.

“Like what? Realistic?,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Louis,  _ you _ cheated on  _ me _ . Not the other way around. You act like I betrayed you by walking away, but what other choice did I have?”

“ _ We could have worked it out! _ ,” Louis spoke quickly, words he had wanted to say for six years falling out of him as if they were afraid they would be forgotten again if they were not heard right now in this moment. “We  _ were _ working it out. Or I thought we were.” Harry looked as though he had been slapped across the face, and Louis rushed to continue before he could cut him off. “We could have done it together. You could have stayed. I would have grown, and I  _ have _ grown! I would have done anything to keep what we had. You have to know that.”

“Do you hear yourself right now?  _ God _ ,” Harry scoffed, shaking his head in bewilderment. “All you had to do to keep me was  _ not _ fuck somebody else. That’s all you had to do, and you couldn’t even do  _ that _ ,” he pushed himself away from the marble island and stepped down from the stool. “You have some nerve walking in here thinking you could make me out to be this terrible person for leaving you when staying as long as I did caused me more pain than you ever gave enough of a shit to notice. Do you even know how much you  _ fucked _ me up?” Louis gulped as he watched Harry begin to unravel for the first time since the last time he was allowed to say ‘ _ I love you’ _ . Eyes welling up with tears, jaw clenched to keep it from trembling. It knocked the wind out of Louis like a kick to the gut. “And then you get behind a mic and you have the balls to sing about finding love ‘ _ too young _ ’ and ‘ _ Princess Park _ ’,” he let out a wet laugh as the first tears began to fall, face twisted in a mix of bitter anger and pure unadulterated despair. “ _ ‘It wasn’t you, it was me’ _ isn’t going to fix it now. So you can keep your too little too late bullshit apologies. I don’t want to hear it.” He wiped his eyes underneath his glasses, setting his face in a cold stare. “And just so we’re clear, I know it wasn’t me. I don’t need  _ you _ to tell me that. Because the whole fucking  _ world _ is in love with me now. Everybody wants me and I would give each and every one of them a taste if it made you die a little bit inside every time. If you felt every new hand on me like a separate knife in your back.” He entered Louis’s bubble then, standing between his legs, a ring-clad hand gripping his jaw to tilt it upwards, almost as if he were going to close the distance. It burned so good where he graced him with his touch. “I made sure you would see me  _ everywhere _ . I didn’t get what I wanted just because I asked for it, I got it because I wanted you to never be able to leave your house without seeing my face on the side of a city bus or hear my voice on the radio singing about fucking someone that isn’t you,” he whispered, and the cold sound sent shooting chills up and down Louis’s spine. “And that’s what I did,” he said, saccharine sweet. He leaned in, brushing their lips together in a barely there touch, lighter than a feather, but Louis still found himself leaning up into the fleeting contact with a gasp high in his throat. “So  _ fuck _ your journey of self-realization. I have no desire to be a stop on your Pity Party World Tour,” his hand slipped from his jaw and jammed into his chest with his words. “And  _ fuck _ .  _ You _ .” He turned away then, beginning his retreat from the room.    
“How surprising. You just walk away when things get hard. Would’ve never seen that one coming,” Louis snapped, a last ditch effort at keeping him on this side of the door. If he could not lure him with apologies, he would twist the dagger in his side until he was paralyzed, drinking in Louis with those sour apple eyes until the end of time. It struck him then how it pained him to not have those eyes on him for even the briefest of moments once he had fallen back into their honeytrap. Just as he had so desperately hoped, Harry froze, body rigid at the comment. He did not turn to face Louis, shoulders tense and knuckles white where his fists were balled at his sides. It was enough to keep Louis’s mouth running, as long as it meant he would stay close enough that Louis could remain blissfully entrapped in the crossfire of his magnetic field. “You know, at least I’ve owned up to the fact that I messed up. You sit there on your pedestal like you did everything right. If you really think it was all me, you’re as delusional as they come.”

“Fuck you,” Harry repeated, softer this time. It was a sad sound. Louis pretended that his heart was not breaking in his chest as he continued.

“If I can’t play the saint neither can you. I made a mistake that was an obvious catalyst for the end of us. No one is denying that,” Louis said and Harry made a noise of protest, turning his head to glare over his shoulder. “I never denied it. I omitted a few details in my recount of events, which is at least a little bit different,” he quickly tacked on before Harry could argue. “But you don’t get to sit there and act like you hadn’t been pushing me away for months beforehand.  _ Years _ , even.” Harry rolled his eyes with a scoff, shaking his head as he turned his body to face Louis. 

“Here we go again with the victim complex,” he sighed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You’re saying I’m wrong?,” Louis asked, eyebrows shooting up his forehead.

“I’m saying you’re insecure,” Harry corrected him and Louis took pause, clenching his jaw to keep the string of defensive insults burning his tongue from slipping out. “I don’t know when you decided that the world was out to get you, but I never thought that meant I was, too.”

“You were out every goddamn night with your stupid Hollywood friends, and I--”

“And you  _ what _ , Louis? You waited by the phone for me to call you like a girl being stood up on prom night? Can you be honest with yourself just this once? Who the hell are you lying for when there’s no one around to believe you?” Louis flinched as though he had been slapped across the face, and if he did not know better, he could swear something resembling regret flashed across Harry’s visage. It was gone as soon as it appeared, replaced with his now commonplace stoic expression. “For argument’s sake let’s say that I did go out every night,” Harry said, putting his hands up as if to wave a faux white flag of surrender. Louis knew him far too well to think he would lay down his weapons so easily. “Where were you? What was it that you were up to while I was out at these clubs that stole me away from you? I don’t think you were sitting at home playing solitaire.”   
“You  _ know _ you were out constantly. Don’t try to turn this around on me,” Louis snapped, and Harry snorted in disbelief.

“ _ Turn this around? _ For fuck’s sake, Louis,” Harry cursed. “What do I have to turn around? One of us has a kid and one of us doesn’t. That’s just looking at the facts,” Harry said and Louis felt the rage bubbling in his gut at the familiar yet ever-sharp jab to his morality. It was the only raw nerve that had literal living proof of his sins, the one vice he could not sweep under the rug. It was a low blow, even if well-deserved. “I could’ve gone to every club from LA to London to Tokyo and never even bothered to call. I could’ve disappeared for days at a time--”

“You  _ did _ disappear for days at a time! You went to every club you could just to get away from me! That’s how it felt anyway.”   
“And you were pious as the fucking Pope, yeah?,” Harry snapped, eyes almost grey from how they had hardened to stone. “Do I need to say it again? One of us has--”   
“Oh my God,  _ enough _ ! I fucking get it, I’m the asshole with the kid. That’s not a get out of jail free card,” he finally exploded. Harry watched him with narrowed eyes but did not move to interrupt him. “You were  _ never _ .  _ There _ . You made new friends that were all too cool for me, too famous to be seen with the  _ real _ pop star's glorified backup singer. They were a bunch of fucking leeches that fed off you for the clout and you let them because you were  _ that _ desperate to feel wanted,” he said, voice shaking as he continued. Harry blinked, the only indication the harsh words washed over him at all. “You started looking to be desired elsewhere before it ever crossed my mind. I just dove in headfirst, clumsy and angry and  _ hurt _ . You left me long before you packed your bags and your righteous self-pity and piled them into a town car. I fucked up. I know that. But you were already halfway out the door. It was a convenient exit with a neon sign that read  _ FREEDOM _ , and you followed the light.” A loaded silence hung between them, heavy where it settled like dust around them, preserving this moment like a Renaissance painting of two people with swords drawn and pointed at their deepest hurt buried inside one another. “I bought the ticket, but you fucking booked it.” Harry didn’t seem to react for a long while. He just stared at him, almost as if he were a curious onlooker, peering into someone else’s life like an overheard conversation on a commuter train. There was something so removed about the way he watched him, and it made Louis want to scratch away his skin like it was nothing more than an even layer of grime. The silence was too loud, and he thought he might implode if it continued any longer. Right in the nick of time, Harry finally spoke.

“That’s how you felt?,” it was posed as a question and Louis hesitated before he nodded once. “And you thought that fucking her would be more effective than… talking to me?” Louis didn’t know how to answer that question, so after racking his brain for a way to make himself look better, he finally decided to do something he had sworn off long ago.

“It wasn’t about what was effective or what would make things better between us. That’s the hard truth, I guess,” he didn’t finish the thought right away, weighing whether the next sentence was worth the grief it may cause the man he was definitely not still madly in love with. Harry watched him expectantly, knowing him too well to not notice the thought bubble above his head. He could never keep a secret from that face. “My only goal was to hurt you.” Harry blinked, stunned silent for the moment. Louis bit the inside of his cheek, nervously waiting for him to speak, to tell him he was a terrible person, that he wasn’t worth the years wasted on him. He didn’t say any of that, though.

“Oh,” he said, and the single word floated up in a bubble towards the ceiling, popping and showering Louis with premature shame. 

“Was I not supposed to say that?,” Louis asked earnestly, crossing his arms over his chest protectively. “I was trying the whole _ being honest _ thing. Don’t know what got into me.”

“No, it’s not that,” Harry said, shaking his head, uncharacteristically flustered. “I just, I--... I didn’t think I would ever hear you say it.”

“What, the truth?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, and it sounded like a sigh of relief that was six years in the making. After a beat of silence, he spoke again. “Thank you.” He was deep in thought, brow furrowed slightly as he sat back down in his seat by the island and resumed his read of the paper. They sat in silence for a while, but the air was lighter than before, as though a weight had been lifted from both their shoulders. The room even looked a bit brighter, though that could have been the work of the steadily rising sun. It wasn’t perfect, and he was not naïve enough to think it ever would be. But for the first time since the star-crossed lovers had danced back into each other’s skies, Louis could finally breathe again, even if only for a fleeting moment. “Well, you finally got to have that conversation,” he said out of the blue, not looking up from the paper, though Louis could see he wore a small smile.

“What?”

“Some guy I used to hang around with wrote this song about me,” he sighed wistfully, resting his chin in the palm of his hand as he finally looked up from the table. Louis cocked an eyebrow in silent questioning. “Something about being face to face at the kitchen table, I don’t know,” he said, and Louis felt a blush burn high on his cheeks. The flirtatious curve of those lips was not lost on him. “Life imitates art, I suppose.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the response to the first chapter has been way better than i thought it would be omg ! i’m so glad people are enjoying it. i hope you like this chapter as much as the first :) thank you for all the kindness towards chapter 1 !!


	3. Chapter 3

“I think there should be guitars between the second chorus and the bridge, like a buildup. It could be sonically reminiscent of Midnight Memories; the fans will eat that up,” Niall said and Liam nodded thoughtfully, scribbling away in his notebook.

“I would’ve never thought of that. Brilliant, Ni,” Liam said and Louis hummed in agreement. Niall was always good with the music, hearing the different guitar riffs and drum beats in his head in a way that Louis could only sit back and admire. He was more lyrically inclined, drawn to the storytelling aspect of songwriting. His words had always shot to kill, his tongue became a dagger when he was angry. It was the softer sentiments he struggled with, their warmth never flowed from his lips quite as easily as the flames of rage. He had told Harry he loved him in a song long before the words ever escaped his lips without music behind him. “We need a smash of a hook for the chorus if this is going to be the lead single. Louis, have you got anything?”

“Hm?,” he was drawn from his thoughts, snapping back into reality. “Oh, no. Sorry, zoned out there for a bit. I like the direction Niall is edging towards in terms of sound, so maybe we should stick with that rock-inspired tone for the lyrics as well.” 

“That works,” Liam replied, glancing down at his phone. “Where the hell is Harry? Niall, you said you texted him 20 minutes ago,” he said, clearly agitated by the absence of his bandmate. 

“He didn’t have a chance to shower after his run this morning. I think he only hopped in about a half hour ago. He’s probably getting dressed,” Louis said without thinking as he typed up different structural ideas for the song they were writing on his Macbook. When he realized the room had fallen eerily silent, he looked up to see Niall and Liam staring at him as if he had just revealed he had grown a second head. “What?” The two shared a perturbed glance before returning their shared gaze to Louis. “ _ What? _ ,” he pressed, growing annoyed by the knowing, somewhat pitying looks he was receiving. Niall quickly looked down at his guitar, suddenly fascinated by the strings, and Liam seemed to shrug the unspoken observation off, though Louis could see in his eyes the first buddings of concern.

“Nothing, nothing. We just--... Nothing,” Liam shook his head as if clearing the board of what occupied his mind. Louis silently thanked the God he no longer prayed to for protecting him from that unwanted conversation. “I like the idea of a rock theme. What if we--”

“Sorry I’m late,” a voice came from Louis’s right, Harry smiling sheepishly as he closed the studio door behind him. His hair was still damp, his skin dewy under the lights. Louis could smell his warm, spicy aftershave from where he sat. The blossom of desire unfurled in his chest. “I had to shower. Didn’t want to stink up the studio after my run.”

“We heard,” Liam said, glancing at Louis pointedly. “No worries, mate. We’re barely through the first verse.”

“Alright, let’s hear it,” he said, sitting beside Louis on the velvet emerald loveseat. There were plenty of places he could have sat, enough chairs and floor pillows for twice the size of their group, but he sat next to  _ him _ . Louis bit the inside of his cheek to conceal a pleased grin, though he could not control the blush that bloomed across his cheeks. Liam and Niall stared at the pair dumbly. If Louis had grown a second head, Harry had just sprouted a tail. “Do I have something on my face?,” he asked as he registered their bewildered stares. One brow piqued as he brought a hand to his lips, wiping the corners of his mouth as if to brush away nonexistent crumbs. His tongue darted out to trace the seam of his lips, and Louis was unabashed in how he watched, completely entranced as he tracked the movement.

“No, just--... Forget it,” Liam said, scrubbing his tired eyes. Harry sat back, allowing himself to sink into the plush sofa. He spread his legs as he did, knocking his knee against Louis’s. For a moment, every pair of eyes in the room zeroed in on the point of contact. It felt as though the Earth briefly halted in her rotation, holding her breath. Louis watched his face from the corner of his eye, waiting for it to crack, for him to mutter a rushed apology, for him to move to put distance between them. He paused, the cogs visibly turning in his head, before swallowing once then looking up at his bandmates. He made no move to shift his weight up and away. “Well?”

“Yeah, um. Yeah. We can run through it quickly,” Liam cleared his throat. He shot Louis a quizzical look, but he only received a blank stare in return, as if there was nothing amiss in this scene they had found themselves entrenched in. He would not admit anything was awry, not when the warmth of Harry’s barely-there touch was as intoxicating as it was. “Niall?,” Liam nudged his friend who snapped out of his own befuddled trance, returning his attention to his guitar. Harry focused on a point in the floor, nodding along as he listened intently to the song that filled the room. Liam’s voice soared into falsetto easily, warm and full in tone yet light as it fluttered through the air. Louis didn’t hear a single note, enchanted by the monotonous motion of Harry absent-mindedly twisting his rings round and round his fingers. The chunky  _ H _ and  _ S _ shot bolts of lightning into his eyes as they caught the light at just the right angle in their carousel ride. He relished in the spots they painted behind his eyelids from how brightly they shined. Before Louis even thought to tune in, the music stopped. “And that’s what we have at the moment.”

“Okay,” Harry said thoughtfully. He rolled his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger, softly humming the melody he had just heard. Louis watched his lips, glittering like he had a mouth full of stars, and Louis thought he probably did. For a moment, Liam caught his eye, watching the way he tracked Harry’s every move, the way he had hardly shifted an inch as not to disturb the closeness between them like a glass placed so precariously on the edge of a table ready to spill and shatter at even a breath released too near. They locked eyes, and Louis shot daggers of  _ I’M FINE FUCK OFF _ across the room. If Liam received the message, he left it on read, staring right back with a sympathetic lilt to his small frown. In that moment, it felt more judgmental than coming from a place of genuine care or concern. Louis felt exposed, like he lay open on an operating table with his bandmates peering down into his chest cavity, sharing their thoughts on why his heart beat and for who, as if it had anything to do with them. Well, anything to do with more than one of them. “It reminds me of the Midnight Memories days. I like it,” Harry said, nodding slowly. “I think some guitar after the second verse--”

“But before the bridge! See, this guy gets it,” Niall exclaimed excitedly. He put his hand up across the small table between them to high five Harry who leaned forward with a wide smile to meet him in the middle. As he did so, his leg brushed up against Louis’s, all achingly familiar heat. When he leaned back again, the length of their thighs remained pressed together, as if they were literally attached at the hip. If Harry noticed, he did not make it known, focused on going further into detail about tweaking some of the lyrics and working out the melody of the chorus moving forward. Louis put all of his energy into staring at the bar that blinked at him from his laptop screen, waiting for him to type his next coherent thought. He couldn’t make out a single thing over the siren that wailed in his brain, screaming  _ HARRY HARRY HARRY HARRY-- _

If he felt Liam watching him try and fail to look anything but mesmerized any tme Harry so much as cleared his throat throughout the rest of the session, he couldn’t find it within himself to care.

  
  


Louis sat with Niall who scrolled through Netflix in a state of deep concentration. He sighed heavily after he checked his phone to see that 10 minutes had passed in complete silence. “Niall, just pick a movie,” he groaned, throwing his head back against the white leather couch. Niall tossed him a glare from the corner of his eye before returning his attention to the television that hung on the wall across the room.

“If you recall, I tried suggesting a movie almost an hour ago and was ungraciously shot down,” he spoke in a tone steeped in passive aggression. Louis rolled his eyes.

“I’m not watching Mamma Mia,” he said as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Why not? It’s a great film,” Harry’s voice came out of nowhere, causing both Louis and Niall to scream, popcorn spilling from the bowl into the latter’s lap as he jumped in surprise.

“ _ God _ , can you wear a bell or something? You might as well have given me a heart attack,” Niall snapped and Harry offered him a cheeky grin.

“Sorry. Next time I’ll announce myself like a prince or summat. I think the Royal Family has an opening for a new Prince Harry now that I think about it,” he said, leaning his weight on the back of the sofa. Louis chuckled at the silly joke, the kind of laugh that bubbles up from your heart like champagne on a Sunday morning, tickling your cheeks bubblegum pink. He looked up and locked eyes with electric green that glowed in the dark as they drank him in. A small, clearly pleased smile adorned the angelic face, dimples peeking through as his eyes sparkled with delight. There were so many moments that felt achingly similar to this one, private glances and stolen looks that only they understood. Signings for Up All Night, onstage during Take Me Home Tour, press junkets for This Is Us-- through it all, even in crowds of tens of thousands of screaming faces, it was just the two of them. It was Niall who shattered the fleeting moment by awkwardly clearing his throat, glancing between the two of them uneasily. Louis silently cursed him as the green eyes shifted their gaze to someone that wasn’t him. 

“We were just about to watch a movie,” he told him and Harry looked at the Netflix homepage for a moment then back at his old friend.

“ _ ‘Just about’ _ seems a bit generous,” he teased lightly.

“Well, it’s kind of hard when all he wants to watch are crime dramas or those bloody superhero films that go on for like twelve goddamn hours,” Niall cursed and Louis glowered at him.

“Who in their right mind whines about how long Endgame is? It’s  _ fucking Endgame!, _ ” he snapped and Harry hummed with a small smile.

“That’s Louis for you,” he sighed. “I would have to watch three films that turned my stomach to even get him to  _ consider _ watching something where no one gets brutally murdered or throws a car down a string of city blocks. The fact that you even got him to acknowledge Mamma Mia’s existence is no easy feat. I’m impressed.” Louis squawked in protest.

“I’m sorry, are we forgetting that you tricked me into watching Dead Poets Society by telling me Robin Williams starred in it and letting me believe it was a comedy? Talk about turning your stomach,” he reminded his old flame who only rolled his eyes.

“Don’t act like that film is not a work of art just because it forced you to feel an emotion,” he teased and Louis scowled at him, though it was only a ruse to conceal the fondness he felt for the other man that threatened to spill through the cracks at any moment. “You said it was the most beautiful movie you’d ever seen, don’t backtrack now.”

“Let the record show I had three glasses of your bougie French merlot at the time. It was the wine speaking, not me,” he said putting his hands up in surrender and Harry wore a knowing smirk on his lips.

“That merlot said a lot of things on your behalf, if I remember correctly,” he said, lifting his weight from the back of the couch. Louis felt his face heat up and something stir in his gut when he looked up to lock eyes with green, now dark with something dangerously close to lust. A million filthy things he whispered into the space, or lack thereof, between them that night flashed through his head like a centerfold of a body he wasn’t allowed to want anymore. Not want,  _ need _ .

“Do you want to join us, Harry? You can be the middle ground so we can just pick a damn movie already,” Niall popped the bubble they had unwittingly blown around themselves. He was either completely oblivious to the palpable tension between them or had simply prioritized choosing a movie to watch above addressing the elephant in the room. Harry was obviously flustered as he shook the unsavory thoughts from his head. Louis relished the way he squirmed.

“Yeah, I--... That sounds fun, thanks,” he agreed. He rounded the couch and looked between his two bandmates, waiting for room to be made for him. Niall moved first, starting to shift closer to Louis to make room for Harry on his other side, but Louis beat him to it, shifting further into his corner to leave room in the middle. Niall looked at him, perplexed, but only blinked a few times in surprise as he moved away to clear the center spot. Harry wore a small smile with a pleasant blush painted on his cheeks as he slipped into the tight space. “Cheers.”

It was Harry who ultimately convinced Louis to watch Mamma Mia against his better judgment, and Harry who fell asleep halfway through even though he insisted it was a  _ ‘must-watch’ _ . Louis made a mental note to tease him about it later. He thought Niall was asleep when Harry shifted, leaning his head on Louis’s shoulder and breathing in deeply. It was a yearning that bled deep inside of him for this to be his life once again. There were so many nights that looked just like this one, so far away yet crystal clear in his memory. When he thought of those nights it was an out of body experience, as if he were bearing witness to a love that could not possibly be his, so out of reach of his undeserving, greedy hands. Even now, as he felt the rise and eventual fall of Harry’s chest beside him in that moment, each breath that left those velveteen lips was a countdown to the next time he was anywhere but within arm’s reach. This was a mirage, an oasis in a desert of grief he had wandered through for six years, waiting to find solace. He looked down at the peaceful face of his evergreen love, chest burning with an overwhelming sense of deep care for him. If this would not be his life in the morning, he would get drunk on the fantasy now. 

Careful not to wake him, he leaned down and pressed his lips into the curls that tickled his neck. He could cry, an infinite amount of memories rushing back to him as the scent of his strawberry shampoo and that unmistakable smell of summertime that seeped from every pore of his lanky frame filled his nose. He felt his chest tighten as he stayed there, eyes shut tight as he soaked in this moment to revisit the next time he felt the dread of being alive and being alone latching to each of his ankles like chains and dragging him towards the ocean floor. When he finally opened his eyes, he met blue. He froze, suddenly rigid. Niall didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. Louis could feel the pity that seeped from his gaze wash over him and sink into the cores of his bones, painting his insides the deepest shade of blue. Niall turned back to the TV and made no mention of it, even as the credits rolled and they began to head up to bed. When Louis looked to Niall, waiting for him to take the reins and wake Harry up, he only stared back blankly, saying nothing. After a loaded pause, Louis looked down, gently nudging Harry awake.

“Hmm? What time is it? Did I fall asleep?,” he croaked in his raspy morning voice. Louis’s mouth went dry at the sound.

“You did, yeah,” Louis whispered into the darkness.

“What part are we up to?,” he asked around a yawn, wiping an eye with the back of his hand. Louis felt his heart swell in his chest at the soft quality of the now ever-guarded version of the man he absolutely did not love with every broken piece of his bleeding heart.

“The movie is over, love,” Louis let the pet name slip, instinctively looking up at Niall who watched in silence as though what played out before him was the most heart-wrenching scene he had ever witnessed.

“M’sorry. Was tired,” Harry mumbled, blinking blearily up at him.

“I know, it’s okay,” he assured him softly, offering a watery smile as he felt the fa çade shattering around them and slicing away at his torn up heartstrings with their jagged, unforgiving edges. “Let’s head up to bed, yeah?” Harry only nodded, standing up slowly as Louis placed his hand on the small of his back to steady him. 

“Night. Sorry for being a buzzkill,” he spoke through a yawn and Louis was endeared though his heart was breaking. 

“Goodnight, lad. Never a buzzkill,” Niall’s voice echoed from the darkness and Harry looked startled for a moment upon remembering the third man was there at all, then offered him a sleepy smile before exiting the room with yet another yawn. Louis stared after him, refusing to meet Niall’s gaze, which he felt weighing on his chest like a thousand ton vat full of deep disappointment. “Louis--,” Niall began to speak after a long bout of silence, but he was cut off.

“Leave it,” he managed, voice breaking as he did. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes as he still refused to meet his friend’s eye. Niall paused before sighing softly.

“Oh, Louis,” he shook his head and Louis grit his teeth to keep the pent up sob from escaping the confines of his chest. “Don’t do this. You  _ know _ he doesn’t--”

“ _ Leave it _ ,” he begged, and Niall was silenced by the desperate sound, the kind that rattled in one’s hollow chest and demanded to be felt. “ _ Please _ .” Niall bit his lip, watching his friend for a few moments as if waiting to see if he would crumble and turn to dust. When he didn’t, he received a firm clap on the shoulder, a final lingering sympathetic look, and was then granted freedom from the vicious eyes of  _ someone else _ , the eyes that never failed to tear him limb from limb in his most vulnerable moments, leaving him as nothing more than flesh and blood that left a stain only he could see in the hardwood floor beneath him. He sunk to his knees on those bloodsoaked oak planks and bit into his knuckle so hard he drew blood as silent tears streamed down his gaunt face and the metallic taste filled his mouth. 

Strawberry shampoo and summertime were above him, not made for him, no longer allowed to smell like coming home. All they did was remind him he would never truly feel at home again, not in this lifetime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lotsa twists and turns in this one. i feel like this is one of those stories where i don't even know where it's going sometimes and i just gotta let it flow out of me ya know ?? anyways enjoy this update coming thru in the middle of the night <3 and thank you so much for the kindness towards the first 2 chapters !!! i really appreciate it :)


	4. Chapter 4

When he first opened his eyes, he was confused as to why he was awake. He looked through the slats in the blinds to see a pitch black sky, the streetlights illuminating the damp ground as a soft rain pattered against the roof. He stayed there, listening to the peaceful sound. This serenity was fleeting, he knew. It would be broken soon enough by the aching of his heart for someone who would never return his affections again and the sad looks he received from his old friends. It felt as though every time he walked down those stairs he was preparing himself to dig up the grave of the deepest resentments he held against himself. Knowing he would wake up every morning and see those green eyes, those ring-clad fingers, those silk-sewn curls used to feel like a privilege. In moments of weakness when he was able to convince himself that he was supposed to be here, they belonged together, nothing had ever gone wrong, it still did. But in the hours between those fleeting moments, the agonizing pain of seeing Harry laugh at jokes that did not come from his lips, the moments he would look at Louis unsure and awkward as if none of it ever mattered once it all went to Hell, it felt more like a death sentence.

“ _Louis_ ,” a hushed voice called into the darkness. He startled, pulling the covers up underneath his chin protectively as he turned his head to find the source. His bedroom door was open and a figure stood on the threshold. The hallway light was blinding to his sleepy eyes, but he would recognize that silhouette anywhere.

“Harry?,” he sat up in bed, wiping at his bleary eyes, suddenly unsure of whether he was really awake at all. “What’s wrong? What time is it?”

“Nothing, I’m sorry. You-- I just thought you might be up. Did I wake you?”

“No, no,” Louis lied, stifling a yawn to support his story. “What is it?”

“It’s fine, you look tired. Just go back to sleep. I’m sorry I--”  


"Harry,” Louis deadpanned, cutting him off. “ _What is it?_ ” Harry paused for a moment before finally speaking again.

“I’m hungry,” he said shyly, and Louis felt his heart ache to lift the corner of the duvet and invite him inside, feel the warmth of his skin, the tickle of his curls, the steady beat of his heart. He didn’t, though.

“Okay,” Louis said, urging him to continue, and Harry looked down at his sock-clad feet.

“Do you, like--... Are you hungry? If not it’s fine, I’m sure there’s something I can throw together downstairs. I just thought that you might be up and maybe you would want to--… You know what? Never mind. I don’t know why I thought-- Just forget it.” Louis should have taken his cue. He should have laid back down and let him walk back out the door. It wasn’t healthy, toeing the line like this. He was over-extending himself, sacrificing his peace of mind to play pretend with someone who would never choose him again. Not when he could have anyone from this galaxy to the next and then some. He should have gone back to sleep.

“Give me five minutes,” he said, and he could swear those green eyes glowed in the dark. “Just let me get dressed.”

  
  


“You look like an extra in a low budget production of A Christmas Carol,” Louis said as he reached the bottom of the stairs. Harry wore a long black peacoat and a paperboy hat, a pair of sunglasses over his eyes despite sitting in the dim light of the lamp.

“Can it at least be The Muppets version? I’m a big Kermit guy,” he replied and Louis was charmed, as usual.

“At least take the sunglasses off, you look like a snooty popstar,” he said and Harry smiled wide, all teeth. 

“I _am_ a snooty popstar,” he said, eyebrows wiggling above the frames. Louis rolled his eyes, disgustingly fond. “I’m trying to be inconspicuous! You’re going out in your classic Adidas trackies like you _want_ us on the cover of The Sun tomorrow morning!”

“Right, and wearing sunglasses at,” he looked down at his phone to check the time, “half three in the morning will really make you blend in.” Harry reluctantly slid the sunglasses off his nose. “Besides, I really don’t think the drive-thru workers are informants for the tabloids.”

“It’s just--.... It’s _us_ ,” Harry said and Louis felt something whir to life in the left side of his chest. _Us_.

“We’ll be in the car. No one knows we’re here,” Louis reasoned with him and finally he sighed, giving in.

“If we get caught I’m telling Simon it was all you,” he warned him, leading the way towards the garage, keys jingling in hand.

“No, you’re not,” Louis said sweetly and Harry shot him a withering glare, silently accepting defeat. When they stepped into the garage, there was a black Honda Pilot staring back at them. “This is your car? You have a #1 record and Stevie Nicks on speed dial and you buy a _Honda?_ ”

“First of all, there’s nothing wrong with being frugal. Your mindset landed one of the Backstreet Boys working in a Men’s Warehouse,” he said as he unlocked the doors with the remote. They each rounded the car to their respective sides and hopped in. “Secondly, I wasn’t exactly encouraged to park my Rolls Royce out front. I rented a car at the airport and this one seemed to be the most--”

“Inconspicuous?,” Louis finished the thought for him. Harry winked at him as he turned the key in the ignition. Louis felt a million butterflies take flight from the pit of his gut, tickling his heartstrings with their fluttering wings.

“You’re finally catching on.” They pulled out of the garage and drove down the street in silence until Louis reached to turn on the radio. A familiar voice rang clear through the speakers, singing _‘Strawberries on a summer evening / Baby you’re the end of June’_. Harry flushed, immediately moving to turn it off but Louis slapped his hand away.

“ _Hey!_ This is Grammy Award Winning material, I’ll have you know,” he chided with a playful grin. Harry rolled his eyes, but a small smile played his lips despite himself. “Hmm… I wonder what this could be about?”

“ _Please_ stop,” Harry groaned, reaching again to change the station just to be rebuked once more.

“I thought you said you didn’t want me to be able to leave the house without hearing you sing about fucking somebody else,” Louis recalled and Harry’s flush deepened at least three shades. “I’m just giving you what you wanted!”

“You’re an idiot,” Harry said, but there was no malice in his voice.

“Maybe I am,” he shrugged. “You got a fucking _Grammy_ for a song about giving head. Clearly you know something I don’t.” Harry shook his head, repressing the smile that threatened to split his face in two. As they pulled into the McDonald’s parking lot and into the drive-thru, it was only then that Louis allowed him to turn down the radio.

Harry placed their order, speaking so gently, painfully polite the way he had into a thousand boxes in drive-thru lines from London to New York to LA and back again. Louis felt himself falling into the trap his own mind had laid for him, the trap of slipping back into this forbidden comfortable place. In the haze of the neon glow that lit up his face, all soft curves of his lips and flyaway hairs lit up in the blue glow like a halo emanating the light of Heaven from his head, nothing could touch them. He looked over at him and it was all so breathtakingly normal. In this moment, they had never parted ways. They were kids with butterfly wings in their tummies and the rose-tinted glasses of a first and only love painting the world around them with a palette of eternal summertime. A small smile occupied his lips, warm and inviting even as he gave him a slightly quizzical look. “What?,” he asked, eyes searching Louis’s face, so blissfully unaware of how the heart sitting in the passenger seat only beat for him. He wanted to kiss him more than he wanted to take another breath, live to see another day. He was breathless with how deeply he wanted him, needed him, dreamt of only him. He wanted to kiss him. He was going to kiss him. He--

“£11.74 is your total. Please drive up to the next window,” a voice rang through the tinny speaker at the box, and the moment had passed. The Earth resumed in her rotation, but Louis was nauseous with how he wanted him, seasick from how he would never know the taste of his lips again. Being beside him like this, breathing his air and feeling the electricity he had gathered like stars within his fingertips, he was the universe folded so nicely into one person. He was all stardust and comets and explosions of light, and Louis was the dying star who foolishly fell in love with someone much too vast to ever settle for someone not even a fraction as bright as him. Not when that person had him, held the cosmos in the palm of his shaking hand, just to blow it all away like a selfish dandelion wish. He hated him for how he shined for everyone to stop and stare, awestruck at the Northern Lights that once only glimmered for him. That was a lie, though. He only hated himself for being stupid enough to fall in love with him all over again.

They drove up to the window, Harry graciously accepting their food, handing each bag and cup to Louis as they arrived. It was so easy, so natural, so meant to be. The simple intimacy of careful hands handing soda cups for the passenger to sort, the mumbled ‘ _thank you_ ’s for accepting the burden, the fishing of his wallet from his back pocket and paying for Louis’s meal without ever questioning it-- It was all so dizzying in its beautiful normalcy.

“So you listened to my album?,” Louis asked after a long stretch of comfortable silence. Harry didn’t respond right away, though a soft smile bloomed across his face.

“I don’t know, did you really look up the lyrics to mine?,” he countered and Louis looked out the window to hide the blush on his cheeks.

“I asked you first,” he replied, turning to look at him once again after regaining his composure. Harry chuckled.

“I did, yeah,” he said quietly. He missed their turn, then another. Neither of them mentioned it.

“And…?,” Louis urged him to elaborate. He thought for a few moments before speaking.

“And I think whoever inspired you to write like that should be flattered,” he said, glancing over at him with a breathtaking softness in his eyes, the kind of softness one would be privileged to ever see in him. Louis felt his heart leap into his throat. “Maybe he should feel a little sorry, too.”

“How do you know it’s a he?,” Louis asked and Harry’s eyes sparkled.

“Just a hunch.” They were both silent for a while as they circled the blocks surrounding the house that they both knew would pop the bubble they had blown around themselves. Louis allowed himself to believe, however foolish it may be, that there was a universe out there where Harry didn’t want this moment to end either.

“Well,” Louis began, taking time to choose his next words carefully, “I think that whoever inspired you to write your album is probably kicking themselves to know what they’ve lost.” Harry stared straight ahead then, turning onto their street. His face was guarded, but not angry like the times before. Louis hesitated before speaking again. “And just so you know, I don’t think you could ever be someone that they wouldn’t talk about. You’re actually probably all they want to talk about,” he huffed a small laugh, knowing the more he said the closer he was to crossing the invisible line. It seemed that they both forgot where exactly that line was, as Harry did not stop him and Louis kept going. “Their friends probably just got bored of hearing about you.” Harry met his gaze in the rearview mirror, something pleading in those green eyes.

“Yeah?,” he said softly and Louis nodded. He looked ahead again, deep in thought as he pulled into the garage. He turned the car off then, sitting in silence. Louis watched from the corner of his eye as a million memories flashed through the green eyes in an instant, a flipbook of desperate love and vicious sorrow like a kiss on the cheek followed by a knife to the heart. Finally, he unbuckled his seatbelt, getting out of the car wordlessly. Louis followed suit, swallowing nervously. Had he taken it too far? Were they back at square one? He didn’t think he could bear seeing those eyes regard him with only resentment as they had before, the heart that bled through the fabric of his sleeve could not possibly survive it. They stepped into the house, the only sound being the ice rattling in their drinks as they moved. It was at the bottom of the stairs that Harry turned to him, something unidentifiable etched into his face. “It’s not about that, you know.”

“What?”

“The song. Watermelon Sugar. It’s not about what you said.” Louis gave him an unimpressed look.

“Harry, I read the lyrics. I know it’s about giving—”

“No, no,” Harry shook his head. “That’s not what I’m saying,” he replied, and Louis furrowed his brow.

“Then…?,” he trailed off, and if he didn’t know better, he could swear Harry’s gaze flickered down to his lips for a fleeting moment.

“It’s not about someone else.” Realization struck Louis like a city bus, hitting his head, his heart, and somewhere beneath the belt. “Goodnight, Louis.” He climbed the stairs then, leaving him to drown in the wake of the dam he had just broken, flooding his head and heart with so many unexplored thoughts and emotions that it was a mystery how he was not washed away in the current.

"Goodnight," he whispered, though no one was around to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m starting to think i should just make a series writing a fic for every song on evermore because the more i listen to it the more stories unfold in my head. thank you as always for your kindness and i hope you enjoy this chapter !! x


	5. Chapter 5

It was early in the afternoon when Louis finally stirred from his sleep for the second time that day. He felt lighter somehow, filled with a hopeful buoyancy he had long ago decided was a feeling not built for him. For the first time since arriving at this house, he was nervous in a way that could not be traced back to the soul-crushing weight of an unrequited love. It was the pure kind, the kind that made him fix his hair in the mirror for 20 minutes after his shower. He caught himself overthinking in the reflection, fidgeting with a stubborn cowlick that refused to obey his command. He shut his eyes, taking in a deep breath as he straightened his back. When he opened his eyes again, there was a smile on his face-- the first genuine sign of even mild contentment he had seen in his bones for a very long time. 

As he walked down the stairs, the only sound were his footsteps on the hardwood. “Hello?,” he called out, frowning to himself. He received no answer. “Where the hell…,” he muttered as he reached the first floor. He rounded the corner into the kitchen and spotted Liam sitting at the island. He looked exhausted, staring at his laptop as though he resented the contents of the screen. He didn’t look up or acknowledge Louis’s presence at all. He only moved to bring a steaming mug to his lips that read  _ ‘THIS IS BULLSHIT.’ _ in bold black type with a picture of a bull sitting on a toilet reading a newspaper. “Oh, Liam, you’re here. Did you not hear me? For a second there I thought you all jumped ship,” he laughed, sliding into the stool across from him. Liam put the mug onto the marble with a gentle clink before scrubbing his face with his hands, sighing softly.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he said. “Though I suppose I should really say _ ‘Good afternoon’  _ since it’s half one. Up late last night?” Louis’s heart fluttered in his chest as he recalled the prior night’s events. Harry’s voice curled around him like smoke, intoxicating high:  _ It’s not about someone else. _

“Yeah, um. Yeah. We watched a movie and I didn’t realize how late it was until I realized the other two had fallen asleep and I was stuck watching Mamma Mia by myself,” he told a half-truth, skirting delicately around what really happened. Liam hummed, nodding slowly. “Where’s Harry?,” Louis asked, glancing to either side of him. That drew Liam from his computer, looking at Louis with one eyebrow raised.

“Why do you want to know where Harry is?,” Liam asked and Louis felt his face heat up in a both bashful and annoyed light.

“I don’t know, I guess I’m just used to everyone being around these days.” Liam stared at him for a few beats longer as if sizing him up, waiting for him to crack. When he didn’t, his eyes returned to the screen in front of him.

“Harry  _ and Niall _ ,” he added pointedly, “are in the studio. They started writing this morning and practically sprinted in there and locked the door. I think I heard them recording harmonies when I walked past there on my way to the toilet a little while ago. Lots of reverb, very vibey. Sounded really cool, actually. Think 70s rock ballad,” he explained and Louis smiled to himself, warm honey filling his heart and spilling over, trickling into his veins and painting him gold from the inside out.  _ Harry _ .

“Sounds sick,” he said, pushing the stool out from the island, preparing to jump down. Liam looked up at him upon hearing the scraping sound.

“Where are you going?,” he asked a question he already knew the answer to.

“What are we doing here when magic is being made down the hall?,” he asked as he hopped down, turning away to walk towards the studio.

“You know what they say about too many cooks,” Liam said and it sounded like a warning shot. Louis rolled his eyes, turning back to face him with his arms crossed over his chest indignantly. 

“I hardly think two more cooks is enough to spoil the broth, if we’re really going with this analogy,” Louis said, unimpressed. Liam’s face was blank when he spoke again.

“What if those two cooks went out in the middle of the night, jeopardizing the broth altogether, thinking the other cooks would be none the wiser? Do you think they might spoil the broth  _ then? _ ” Louis’s heart just about stopped. He stared like a deer in headlights, stock still where he stood. “What the fuck were you thinking, Louis? If you were even thinking at all.”

“What are you talking about?,” Louis begged his body language not to betray him, doing his best to come across unbothered and in control. The way his voice shook may have given him away, though.

“Congratulations. You’re trending,” Liam said, turning his laptop around. On the screen was the Twitter explore page, and the first five trending topics and hashtags were dedicated to himself and Harry, the sixth centering around a possible band reunion on the horizon. Louis just stared at the screen, not able to meet Liam’s eye.

“I-- I don’t understand,” Louis stammered, feeling his heart pounding hard in his chest. “We didn’t… How?,” was all he could manage. Wordlessly, Liam turned the laptop back to himself, clicked on a different tab, then swung it back around to Louis. On the screen was an article by the Daily Mail, a grainy security camera image of Harry speaking to the woman who handed him their food last night. Louis thought he might pass out. 

“Let’s see what it says here,” Liam said, turning the laptop towards himself again, clearing his throat to read from the page.  _ “Hitmaker Harry Styles spotted grabbing a bite at a North London McDonald’s in the early hours of the morning. The lucky drive-thru employee who got to meet the “Watermelon Sugar” singer during what she thought would be just another graveyard shift described him as “incredibly polite and even more handsome in person” _ .” Louis found himself agreeing with her despite his deep, burning animosity for her choice to leak to the press. Liam continued,  _ “She also mentioned seeing a man in the car with him who looked familiar, though she could not place him. Our writer showed her a photo of the heartthrob with his former bandmates in their 1D days as a shot in the dark. Brace yourselves, Directioners, because if it truly was Louis Tomlinson in that car, we might just be making more Midnight Memories with our favorite boy band sometime soon.”  _ Louis was numb, staring at a spot in the marble countertop. The words washed over him but did not connect. Liam watched him closely, brown eyes cold as they regarded him. 

“It’s just the Daily Mail,” Louis said finally, desperate to quiet the thrumming of his heart in his chest.

“No, it’s not,” Liam said calmly. “It’s The Sun, The Herald, Us Weekly-- I can go on,” he listed. “Buzzfeed has a poll asking their readers which McDonald’s item they think embodies  _ Larry _ best.” Louis cringed at the ship name. “Seriously, man. What the actual  _ fuck _ were you thinking?”

“We were hungry and we figured it was late enough--”

“You couldn’t order Postmates? Make some Kraft mac and cheese? You had to drive around town without a care in the world for a goddamn McChicken?”

“Look, I’m sorry. Obviously we should have thought about--,” Liam cut him off mid thought.

“No, Louis, I really don’t think you are,” he seethed. Louis was taken aback by the uncharacteristically harsh tone coming from his old friend. “Do you have any idea how many people are working day and night to make this happen? To keep it under wraps? All for you to just about blow it to play out your sad little fantasy?” That stung. Louis clenched his jaw, turning his cheek. “Did it feel good, being in his passenger seat again? I sure hope it did. Because you were a camera angle away from shooting the whole thing to Hell.”

“Well, we didn’t, did we?,” Louis snapped.

“You wouldn’t care if you did,” Liam shook his head. “That’s what scares me. You weren’t caught on camera, not because you were careful, but out of sheer luck. That’s how sucked into your own little world you are, you didn’t stop to think about anyone else, and you’re not even sorry.”

“I just said I was sorry! What more do you want from me? I can’t go back in time and change it. So what is it that you would like me to do?,” Louis exclaimed, frustration spilling over and staining the hardwood floor  _ RED RED RED _ .

“I would like for you to be fucking honest for the first time since you got here,” Liam said in a low voice and made Louis’s insides freeze. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

“Fuck off,” Louis said through gritted teeth, staring through the blinds at the quiet street they currently lived on, thinking about the simple lives of the people on the other side of these four walls. What he would give to slip into their quiet routines and not have to worry about matters as frivolous as who might see him in the take-out line.

“ _ See? _ You can’t even look me in the eye and deny it. Un-fucking-believable. You know what? I don’t even--”

“ _ WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY? _ ,” Louis exploded into a million pieces, confetti of blood, guts, and his deepest insecurities fluttering to the ground like the wings of decaying butterflies. “It’s  _ him _ , Liam! It’s  _ always _ been him! What am I supposed to do? Not hang on his every word? Not go with him wherever he lets me follow? Not hold every second he’s willing to spend with me in my hands like a gift because I know he’s going to leave me behind again? Tell me how to do that and I will. I  _ want _ to. I don’t want to love him this way. This is a losing game and I  _ know _ that but it’s the only thing I know how to do.” Louis felt tears threatening to paint his face blue. Liam watched him in silence, eyes wide and achingly sad for him. “Please, if you know how to make me stop loving him, I am quite literally begging you to tell me. Because as pathetic as I look to you, I promise I feel it tenfold.” He turned to walk in the direction of the studio again, stopping to turn back only once he was in the doorway. “And if not, I mean it.  _ FUCK. OFF. _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaand back to the angst. thank u as usual for the love shown on the other chapters and i really hope you enjoy this one :) <3

**Author's Note:**

> this is kind of an interest check if anything .. i have more written but i wasn't sure it was worth expanding on so if you like this perhaps i will post the rest/finish it ! thanks for reading luv ya !!!!!! <3
> 
> PS: if u would rather i post longer chapters let me know! i’ve literally just been posting the scenes as i write them like a stream of consciousness !! if that’s annoying tell me and i’ll just wait until i have a few scenes to post in each chapter :)


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